


1963

by Respiranina



Category: Shefani, The Voice (US) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Development, Developing Relationship, Dirty Dancing, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 03:21:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17841473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Respiranina/pseuds/Respiranina
Summary: It was the Summer of 1963. The Summer when everyone called Gwen by her nickname, Wennie. It reminded her of simpler times, when she wasn't nineteen, straight out of her first year of college. It was all before Kennedy was shot, before the Beatles came, when she couldn't wait to get married and start the life her father had always wanted for her. That was the Summer her family went to Greyhill Resort. It was the summer of her First Dance. The summer of her First Love.The summer of the Time Of Her Life.





	1963

**Author's Note:**

> This is shamelessly a Dirty Dancing Au inspired fic. I apologize for nothing. I have a great story planned. 
> 
> Much of it is mapped out already. I made sure to take the time to do so before I started posting chapters. This will be fourteen chapters in length. Each chapter will show a day in Gwen's life for two weeks while she's at this resort. 
> 
> I've put song links to the scenes so that you can listen an immerse yourself in this world. I recommend this always because it's exactly what I listen to when I write these chapters. 
> 
> Also, last names are different in this one. Family members are new. All will be explained as we dive a little deeper in other chapters. Trust me :) 
> 
> I've put an image of the dress Gwen wears later in the night. It's important to have a reference for later.
> 
> As always, thank you for clicking on my stories and indulging my crazy ideas. You guys are honestly the best and always know that these versions of our Shefani babies are not the real Gwen and Blake, although I will try to make sure they remain true to the King of Country and Queen of Ska as we know them. 
> 
> I own nothing of Dirty Dancing or Gwen and Blake. Don't sue me. 
> 
> Okay, I'm tired of talking. Go read!

 

Gwen stepped off the private plane and inhaled deeply; the air smelled briny and sharp, and it felt as though it could be cut clean through with a knife. It had been uncharacteristically blistering back in Anaheim when her family left just a couple of hours ago, but here in Catskills, the July air was almost stiflingly hot. She stuck a finger under the collar of her dress and pulled it away from her neck, sighing when there wasn’t the least bit of relief. 

It seemed fitting, this oppressive heat, given that Gwen didn’t favor making this trip in the first place. It wasn’t even for business. Malcolm's lawyer and his wife invited them every year to stay the entire week at the  _ Greyhill Resort _ . Really, they had insisted, and her mother was tired of coming up with reasons not to go just because her father didn’t want to take the time off from work. It was a paid vacation and they were going that summer. For two weeks, instead of one. End of discussion, her mother had said. Gwen had just finished her first year and a semester abroad at Oxford. She was enjoying being home for the summer before she would have to go back to school. She missed her friends and her fiance most of all. The only reason she agreed to go on the trip was because Vince found a way to make it upstate, too. He’d be coming in the middle of the week. It was so close and yet, felt so far away. 

Gwen sighed and looked up at the sky. It was a hazy yellow, although it was practically cloudless; it should have been a beautiful day, but her sour mood casted a dark shadow over it. Perhaps it was the idea of being away from her California so soon after she just got back; perhaps it was the fact that she would have to play the perfect daughter for her father’s friends instead of doing what she wanted the entire trip. Or maybe it was the knowledge that she had to spend  _ two  _ weeks with her insufferable sister, Vivian.  Whatever it was, her plans to just soak in a heated pool and sip mai tais for the duration of the trip were rapidly falling apart. 

A black luxury car was waiting for them outside the airport entrance to take the family of four to the relatively new Inn. 

"Mr. and Mrs. Laslo," a tall, middle aged man in a freshly pressed suit addressed her parents. His accent was foreign--English--handsome. "Your luggage will arrive at the Inn in a few minutes after you. Are you ready to head to  _ Greyhill Resort _ ?”

"Yes.” Her father answered. “I’m told to ask you to take the scenic way, Mr…?"

“Charles, Sir. Just call me Charles."

"Alright, Charles. Pleasure to meet you.” 

The driver smiled and extended a strong hand for her father to shake. Then a gentle one for the women. Charles helped Gwen and Vivian into the car and shut the door firmly. Gwen, once settled, immediately took her book,  _ A Winter’s Ball,  _ out of her purse and began to read the last pages of the fourth chapter. If she was engaged with the text, her family would leave her alone for the entire car ride. Too bad she couldn’t stick her nose in a book for the whole vacation.    

“There is candy and chocolate for your liking in the baskets. Mrs. Garrison knows your daughters prefer both.” Charles said from the front. 

Gwen looked down at her feet where he was referring to and smiled. She could use some sugar to soothe her nerves. While she busied herself choosing between a hershey bar and a box of sweet tarts, she realized that she could just have both (she’s on vacation), and looked up at Charles, asking, “Have you worked for the Garrison’s long?”

“I’ve worked for the family since I was a young boy, ma’am.”

“Gwen.” She corrected.

“Miss Gwen.” He amended. “About thirty years or so.”     

“Really? So not long then?” She teased. Charles laughed, giving her an appreciative glance through the rearview mirror. “Don’t you get bored of it, though?”  

“Wennie.” Her mother scolded her eldest daughter. “Eat your candy and leave Charles alone.”   

Gwen cocked her head at the older woman, her nose wrinkling whenever she was annoyed at something. Her eyes roamed to her sister, who was hiding a smile behind her amber hair as she tore open a packet of skittles. 

Neil Garrison was a prominent figure in the southeastern New York community, having worked as a world-class barrister. His palatial home had once been a prosperous plantation, but his great-great-great grandfather had sold much of the land to a widowed English countess several years earlier so the wealthy socialite could build a magnificent Ponce de Leon Hotel in the sleepy seaside town. When the two married, they decided to run it together. Neil had inherited the property when his father died and only really took up interest when he met and eventually married his third wife, Rachel. Mrs. Garrison had the beautiful vision to turn it into an extravagant resort.   

When the car headed for the main building of  _ Greyhill _ , Gwen couldn't help but be impressed by its towering cream columns and wrap-around porches, looking far grander than was absolutely necessary for the size and scope of the neighboring infrastructure surrounding it. The Inn sat just west of the blue groves, facing away from the water. It was a grand place until you looked south at the soaring pillars of the  _ Calliope _ , the ballroom/dance studio with its ornate terracotta details, opulent furnishings and expansive grounds. The small house that Rachel and Neil let them take up residence was just a few footfalls away from the Inn, looming large and ominous in the background, a thick ivy climbing its poured concrete walls and winding its way skyward as it towered over the rest of the houses and private bungalows. It wasn’t anything that Gwen hadn’t stayed at before with its grand structures and extravagance she simultaneously abhorred and respected at this point in her life. But the fact that it was the center of attention and she lived in a much more private setting at home, would be the one thing to make her most uncomfortable.   

“Impressive, don’t you think, Wennie?” Vivian moved closer to her sister’s side of the car as she stared out the window toward the lake.

“Looks like we’ll be kissing a lot of money this week goodbye.” She replied.  

“Paradise, indeed.”

Gwen snickered. 

The car pulled up to their quarters and she noticed how her hair, the color of whiskey and fallen autumn leaves, had matched the trimming of the window sills and column bases. Thinking of the comparison reminded her of the hair appointment she was missing to be there. She didn’t exactly want to get her head colored again but her fiance prefered her blonde opposed to her natural brunette.

The car door opened suddenly and Charles extended another hand. “Your luggage should be arriving shortly. I’ll have the house staff bring it up. Would you like one of the footmaids to help you settle in or would you prefer to do it yourself?” 

Gwen hummed. “No, I think we can manage.” She said, despite her sister’s protesting. The sixteen year old sighed as she followed behind Gwen, who was following behind her father.

Instead of wandering around the house like a pompous idiot, the nineteen year old made a comfortable nest for herself in the day window and stared out at all the guests walking around the grounds. Their polo shirts and flower print dresses gave her a headache after a while, and when the luggage finally arrived, she scoured through her vanity bags in search of a pain reliever. She then sent the bags upstairs and made her way to unpack them only after she got a glass of water from the kitchen. 

The  _ Greyhill Resort  _ was known for grand balls preceded by five-course meals in the dining hall and high-stakes poker games and billiards that lasted into the wee hours of the night. There was golf, sailing, tennis, and an entire list of other activities to splurge oneself in. The Inn had only been open for a couple of years but already managed to earn a sanguine reputation. As she walked up the two story staircase, Gwen thought at least she would somewhat be in awe with the Inn everywhere she went, with its indoor and outdoor pools and glorious Russian baths, and beautiful tides and vessels out on the water. And then there was the rain--something she had long since forgotten about and didn't expect to see much of again until the next year. Here, she would dance in it. She already had Vivian look up the weather while on the plane.  

Gwen walked into her room, which she would be sharing with her sister, and looked over at her bed and the piles of bags they had splayed on top of the comforter. Their bedroom sat just above the library, facing south over the front lawn. The room was large and ornate just like everything else in the house. There were intricate moon shapes and star patterns along the base of the ceiling and across the walls; a polished marble fireplace on one side of the room was framed in carvings of looping floral garlands. The soaring ceilings and expansive windows let in the light in bright, cheery, streaks that painted the wood floor a warm mucus color.

She opened one of the windows from along the bottom, allowing her access to the attached upstairs veranda. She opened the latch and ducked under the partially opened window to step out into the warm air, and made note of a large trellis to her right; it looked sturdy enough for someone to climb. She wondered where it lead. She looked out over the lawn, the green grass and trees a welcome change from the burnt sight of concrete at home. The sweet scent of the orange blossoms from across the hill teased her into being charmed by the place. Vince would like it there. 

Gwen decided to leave her unpacking for later that night and went in search of some people her own age. That’s when she ran into Stephen Gale. Stephen had been one of her classmates back in grade school. She didn’t think she’d ever see him again, or that he would even remember her. But when he caught her eye, outside near the side gate of the Inn, chatting with a woman wearing a gorgeous, black, strapless dress, he gave her a large smile. 

"G! What in the hell are you doing up here?” 

“Stephen. I never thought I’d see your goofy face again.” 

He stepped over and wrapped her in a warm embrace. “It’s nice to see you.”

“You too.”

“You vacationing up in the mountains?” He asked, pulling away. 

She nodded. “My father’s lawyer invited us. Same with you?” 

He shook his head. “I’m working.” 

“Working? Like waiting or cleaning pools?” 

He grinned. “Entertainment staff. I give dance lessons to the guests.” 

“Really?” 

“You surprised the Gale can bust a move?” 

She laughed. “Not at all. You always did keep me on my toes.” 

He smirked and gestured suddenly to the woman he was with.  

“This is Alicia Bennett. She’s one of the dance instructors. Alicia, this is G--or is it Wennie now?”

“My folks and most of my friends call me Wennie. I think the only person that calls me G is my fiance."  

“You’re engaged?”

Gwen blushed. “Yeah, I keep thinking the entire world knows.” 

“That’s great Wen.” 

She winced at the nickname for her nickname, but it wasn’t the first time that she gotten called that, nor was it a surprise that Stephen would be the one to do it in the first place. 

Gwen looked over at Alicia, realizing she had not said one word to the woman. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to considering the scathing look Alicia was giving her. Apparently, her lack of nerve was noticeable because the dancer’s face shifted to one of faux nicety. "That ring is absolutely stunning.” Alicia told her, eyes glued to the rock on her finger, voice raised a pitch higher. 

Gwen blushed. She thought the piece of jewelry was a little too much, but she got compliments everywhere she went so it couldn’t be that ostentatious.  

“Thank you. I really appreciate that.” She managed.

The two women smiled at each other in a moment of awkward silence until Stephen clapped his hands together. "Well, we gotta go set up. We’ll be down at  _ Calliope  _ if you and the family stop by for the wine tasting," he said, squinting once the sun peaked out from a single cloud. 

"I think we are.” She replied.  

“Fantastic.” He kissed her cheek before him and Alicia walked off in the direction of the lake. 

Once out front on the blue porch of the Inn, Gwen tilted her head back and looked up in the canopy of magnolias lining the lawn. She squinted into the sun and shielded her eyes from its glare as she wiped the sheen of sweat from her neck. There was mumbling coming from inside one of the open rooms. Gwen peered inside and saw a bald man addressing a number of young men in waiter outfits. She couldn’t hear what they were saying because she was still too far away. She ventured closer until she was standing right outside the cracked door. 

“Show the daughters a good time…” 

Gwen strained her ears to hear anymore but it was a moot point until another guy walked into the room abruptly, greeting, “A good time means lasting longer than a minute gentlemen.” 

“Hey, hey, hold it.” The man, who Gwen assumed to be the manager, ordered the guy and his friends. “Well, if it isn’t the entertainment staff.” 

The younger man cracked a belligerent smile, folding his brown leather jacket over his arm. He was tall, broad shouldered, tan. His  slightly tousled, dark brown hair, which was thick at its roots, was even more lustrous and curly at the ends, slick with brylcreem. His face looked smooth, his skin soft. Everything about him looked  _ clean _ . 

“Listen wise ass,” The manager said. “You have your own rules this year. You teach the guests. You do not touch them. Whatever dance they wanna learn, whatever they pay you to show them, do it but do nothing else. You understand? That’s where it ends. That’s where your contract here will end if I find any monkey business going on. Especially with the daughters.” 

The dance instructor bit the inside of his cheek and looked down at the floor. Gwen couldn’t see his eyes because they were covered with sunglasses. He exhaled through his nose loudly and raised his head back up. “Does that mean the mothers too or…?” 

The older man clutched his hand into a fist. “Watch it, Donovan.”

The instructor pouted. “I thought we were finally on a first name basis, Robert. Call me Blake.”

“You wanna pack your bags now?” 

The guy, Blake, put his hands up in a defensive, mocking, motion, and slowly backed away from his employer with his crew in tow. They all laughed together as they disappeared from the room. Gwen thought she saw Stephen with them. 

Gwen shook her head and backed away from the room. Her curiosity was peaked but she didn’t think exploring the grounds anymore was going to sate it. 

She ventured back up to the house and put the exchange out of her head as she got ready for dinner. 

“Wennie, can you put my hair up in a braid?” Vivian came out of the bathroom asking. 

Gwen was applying lip balm in the vanity. “Ask Mom.” 

She smacked her lips. “I asked you. She doesn’t do it right.” 

“Mom taught me. Of course, she does it right.”

“Wennie.” 

“Vivian.” 

Her younger sister crossed her arms and stood behind her in the mirror as she continued to tend to her skin and face. 

“I’m not doing your hair. I have to do mine still and dinner is in fifteen.” 

Vivian rolled her eyes and stomped out of the room, probably in search for Maria. Gwen shrugged to herself and went back to putting moisturizer on her bags. They were from school and she wished the dark skin underneath her eyes would just go away already. It was a horrible look and made her seem as if she had aged a hundred years.  

Ten minutes later, Gwen stood in front of the full length mirror and ran two perfectly manicured hands down her dress. Unlike her mother and sister, Gwen had no taste in the pastel or print colored fabrics. She wore a simple, crimson, silk, slip dress with a nude heel that raised her only an inch off the ground. The color accentuated the paleness of her skin and brought out the dark pigment of her eyes. 

Vivian walked back into the room with a near perfect hairdo and grabbed her purse. “We’re leaving.” She mumbled, turning right back around to leave the room. 

Gwen rolled her eyes at the attitude and grabbed her clutch only. Downstairs, her father stood staring at his watch, dressed in a black and white suit and a maroon tie. He looked handsome with his dark hair, the grey strands barely scattered throughout his head, mostly prominent at his temples. His green eyes were bright and well-rested despite the long journey. Her mother was checking her reflection in the wall mirror and Gwen smiled at the yellow gown she was wearing. 

“Ready?” Malcolm asked. 

She nodded and followed her family out the door to the waiting vehicle. The black town car took them to the  _ Calliope.  _ They were seated at a table to the left corner. The wine tasting was very personal as waiters, some of which she saw earlier, brought the bottles to their seats upon request. Gwen and her sister weren’t old enough to drink but Malcolm let them each have one glass of wine of their choosing. Their mother wasn’t too accepting of the idea but she let the argue die on her tongue as she sipped at her own Riesling. 

Gwen chose a red—Roscato—and sat in relative silence as Vivian told a story from golf camp earlier that June. Eventually, they were allowed to venture off on their own as long as they didn’t leave the ballroom. They were to “mingle” and “socialize” until their father felt it time to head back. That’s how Gwen found herself dancing with some Harvard graduate near the edge of the room. His name was Philip and he was in the same boat as she. Overbearing parents and unwanted participation in a family trip could really bring two persons together. 

Philip was just talking to her about his girlfriend, who was in the peace corps, when commotion in the middle of the floor grabbed both of their attention. Gwen’s eyes landed on the wise guy from the entertainment staff. He was dressed in black slacks and a white button up that was open at the throat slightly. His hair was as slick as ever but two single strands lay in each of his eyes. On his arm was the instructor that Stephen had been talking to outside the Inn. She was dressed in a brilliant rose dress that Gwen could never pull off because she was too short and not built like a dancer in the slightest. 

The two were dancing the  [ mambo ](https://youtu.be/69yK5mNEsYw) , that much she knew, but the proficiency of the dance was too good not to take notice. 

“Who are they?” She found herself asking out loud. 

Philip eyed the dancing couple. “They’re here every year. Everyone calls them the dance people. They’re supposed to keep the guests happy with lessons and other stuff Mrs. Garrison has them do.” 

Everywhere she looked, Gwen saw nothing but faces glued to the man and woman in the middle of the floor. They were moving as if they were one person, with all the skill in the world, all the passion Gwen had ever known to have about certain things. She only felt that way about music and fashion. 

“My sister thinks they show off too much but if I could dance like that, I’d be showing anyone who would watch.” Philip voiced and Gwen smiled lightly, gaze still focused on the act. 

They had split from each other after a particular stunning lift and grabbed guests from the crowd to help them finish out the dance. Gwen continued to watch them, eyes traveling from the man’s face to his arms and legs and feet, then back to his face again. Philip had taken her in his arms once more and they continued to dance well into the night, even after her parents excused themselves. 

Gwen forgot all about the guy and girl as she was in Philip’s company. While they swayed there together, they talked about everything. She didn’t feel the pressure to have to hold back because she would never see him again after these two weeks. She also didn’t feel any pressure to do anything else but conversate because they were both involved with other people.

But eventually, Philip had to bid her good night so that he could look after his little sister as his parents went to play scraps. He tipped his head in a manner of well-trained hospitality and left her there in the nearly empty ballroom. Gwen looked around at the lingering dancers and the cleaning staff. A feeling of profound loneliness crept up behind her when she wasn’t looking and the nineteen year old thought it best to just go to bed. But when she got out into the fresh night air, all Gwen felt like doing was walking. So, she did just that. She walked until her feet hurt and then she walked some more. 

On the outskirts of the property, there were cabins lined up along the bottom of the lake. One cabin in particular, looked like a barn. The style was distinctly of a French influence. Even if it looked old, it was covered in artwork and moonlight that shimmered and bounce off the walls of the building. There were steps that led up to the front entrance and as she walked closer, she could see the light from inside spilling out onto the neglected landscape. A sign to her left read:  **Staff Quarters. No Guests Please.**

She ignored the words in favor of the music, laughter, and the sounds of merriment coming from inside the barn. As she ascended the steps, she caught up with someone already making their way to the festivities. She called out to them and momentarily stopped mid step when she saw that it was Stephen. 

“Stephen, hi.” She walked the rest of the way to meet him. 

“G, what are you doing here?” 

“I was taking a walk.” 

“Well, you gotta go back.” 

She frowned and looked at the three boxes of beer he was carrying. “Well, let me help you with those.” 

“No, it’s okay. I got it.” 

“What’s going on up there?” She looked to the barn. 

“Nothing. No guests allowed, Wen.”

“Why are you being so weird?” 

He sighed and looked around. “Look, I don’t want to get in trouble.” 

“You won’t. It’s just me.” 

Stephen hoisted the boxes further up in his arms before he finally let her take one off his hands. “Can you keep a secret?” She nodded, furtively. “You’re parents would kill you--Robert would kill me.” 

“Just show me, Stephen.” 

He gave her one last look of concern before turning and ascending the stairs once again. She followed behind him. When they made it to the top, Stephen flung open the doors with his backside, almost dropping the one case. Gwen looked after him, nervously, pushing out her free hand to help him balance. When he stood upright, Gwen’s focus shifted immediately to the scene in front of her. 

She had never seen anything like it. Awestruck wasn’t even the word to describe the world that Stephen had just opened up to her. She didn’t think there even was a word to encompass  _ this _ kind of thing--this kind of dancing. The first thing she noticed about it was the women. They advanced on the men, retreated when they hooked them in, pirouetted for the heck of it, their arms waving from side to side above their heads to let everyone know that they had not a care in the world. Their heads swayed to the  [ music ](https://youtu.be/epPiqIUlhPU) . Their garments fluttered. But what gave her pause was the way their bodies were all but plastered to the men. Like ribbons in the wind, they were timeless. Alive.  _ Sexy _ . Hands held hips close, parts that were private and one's own were practically morphing themselves into the other body. Lips were a hair’s width from touching. Perspiration mingled. Breaths danced around each other. She didn’t know limbs could be this close, could be this passionate. She felt like she was intruding. She felt like she was kept out on a big secret and the pit in her stomach was either from one or the other or both. 

Her mouth was open, she could feel the dryness on her tongue. Gwen licked her lips and leaned slightly toward Stephen, asking, “Where’d they learn to do that?” 

“Where? I don’t know. Kids are doing it in the basements back home. Wanna try it?” He did a little jive and wiggle, smirking at her handsomely. Gwen immediately shook her head. She could never dance like that, and ignoring that part inside her that so desperately wanted to, told herself that she never would. Her father would have a heart attack. 

“Come on, Wennie.” Stephen made his way through the mess of bodies. 

Gwen followed behind him, eyes still wide and transfixed on the dancing taking place right in front of her. She got a couple of odd stares from the staff. Her dress stuck out like a sore thumb and she was beginning to regret the heels she had on. 

She placed the box of beer on the floor next to the two Stephen set down. Her friend was leaning on a pillar, watching the floor twist and turn. Gwen watched alongside him. 

“Can you imagine dancing like this on the main floor? Home of the family foxtrot.” He chuckled. “Mrs. Garrison would close the place down before she let that happen.” 

She hummed but it couldn’t be heard over the loud music. Gwen continued to let her eyes scour the room some more. She noticed the consistency of some of the moves, realized that there wasn’t anything over complicated about them at all. It was about rhythm--chemistry--two things that were as foreign to her as English culture. In some ways, she almost felt jealousy at the care free attitude and lack of inhibitions that were being displayed. She could never do that. Did she really even want to do that? All of it seemed somehow beneath her and she knew that was her upbringing doing the talking now. 

The crowd parted slightly on the floor. Gwen strained to see what was happening and nearly gasped when she saw Blake and Alicia arrive. They wasted no time joining the dancers in a sultry jive of their own. They were wearing the same clothes from before, but somehow their smiles were bigger, their twists more relaxed. 

“That’s my cousin. Blake Donovan.” Stephen pointed to the instructor who currently had his entire body wrapped around his partner. His profile was something of a wonder, made of moonlight and sweat and bright silk. 

“He got me the job here.” Stephen continued. 

The dots added up in her head but she was too focused on the fluidity between Blake and Alicia to care or comment. They were feeding of each other’s energy and it was a sight to be privy to. 

“They look great together.” She said, involuntarily.

“They are.” Stephen agreed. He glanced at her. “You’d think they were a couple wouldn’t you?” 

“Aren’t they?” They had to be, she thought. No one moves like that with someone and not lend their heart to them in much the same way. 

But Stephen shook his head. “Never. They’re like brother and sister if you ask them.” 

Just then, Alicia and Blake were only linked by their arms as the dancer dropped to the floor and was pulled back up by Blake. Alicia’s lower half dragged along his right leg each time in a sensuous movement. Brother and sister, right. 

Gwen couldn’t shake off the heat she was feeling herself as she watched the pair. They only continued to dance off one another. But eventually, the song came to an end. Everyone cheered loudly, and waited for the next record to play. When it did, the gyrating and close dancing started up again. Her head nodded slightly along to the  [ instrumental ](https://youtu.be/ORmW9de6PZg) .

Blake grinned as he began to switch partners, making his way around the room. She regretted staring so hard when she caught his eye. He did a double take when he saw her--more importantly, when he saw her with Stephen. He started to make his way over and Gwen grew more nervous by the minute. 

“Stevie.” He crooned to his cousin, and Gwen was surprised to hear the heavy accent on his tongue. It was deep, rich,  _ clean _ . “What’s she doing here?” He glanced her way briefly. 

“She’s with me. It’s cool.” Stephen reassured him.

“I helped him carry some beer.” It was said awkwardly and she thought she sounded rather pathetic. His piercing, older, and much more mature gaze told her as much. He didn’t say another word as he looked between her and his cousin before turning back around and going out on the dance floor again. 

She let out a breath. “Carried some beer.” She whispered to herself. 

Stephen smirked, clearly hearing her. 

A line dance started out on the floor. Of course, Blake and Alicia led it. They were doing a two step and nearing her and Stephen’s little corner when she managed to grab Blake’s attention again. He was dancing in her direction. The dancer straightened up in a belt and walked over to her. She had been staring at his feet, seeing how they moved so effortlessly underneath his tall stature, so when she looked into his eyes, she saw that mischievous glint in the whites of them. He beckoned her closer with a crooked finger and a dazzlingly smirk. Gwen could feel her heart beating harder and she didn’t know if it was her nerves or the music making her that way.

Blake took her hand and pulled her an inch closer but she resisted at first. When he did it again, she went willingly, only turning back for a second to look at Stephen, who shrugged his shoulders and smiled slightly.

Blake deposited her right in front of him and took a step back before beginning to move his hips to the music. His hands reached out to correct her stance, making her bend her knees. She tried to move her hips like him but it all felt stiff and wrong. Looking around to see how the others were doing it, he caught her attention again by talking. 

“Don’t look at them--look at me. Look at my eyes.” He pointed to his blue orbs and once she was given permission to see, Gwen catalogued the color even further. They were the shade of water left in mud on the inside, a coat of blue icing sugar dust on the outer layers, grey flashes like lightning around the pupil.

“Good.” He praised, eyes moving back and forth from her hips and face. Gwen couldn’t help the small smile forming on her lips at his approval. 

She carried on with the provocative movements, sustaining eye contact here and there. When he wrapped a large hand around her lower back and pulled her flush against him, Gwen’s hips stuttered. She quickly regained her bearings again and tried to keep up. 

“That’s better.” He murmured. “Now roll this way.” 

She tried to copy his gyrating and swayed the opposite way from before. 

“Now watch.” He commanded when she got that down. His pelvis thrusted forward and backwards, each time he swung his knees lower. His hands guided her movements once again, but never lingered longer than strictly necessary to show her. It wasn’t until he praised her learning for the third time that his palms stayed glued to her sides, sliding down to her waist and then back up again as their bodies rubbed against each other. 

Blake swung her arms over his shoulders and Gwen grasped his sweaty neck, fingers half touching skin, the other half resting against the wet fabric of his shirt. Her eyes remained on his, her smile grew wider, more carefree. He was grinning down at her. 

She was in between a man’s legs--a strange man’s legs--dancing like she didn’t have an oxford/Yale education underneath her dress, liking the way it felt to not be so prim, so proper, so boring. Blake dipped her a couple times, and every time she felt her back bend in a way that it never bent before, Gwen let those worries drop to the floor so that they could dance on them some more. 

Blake wrapped both arms around her as she clutched his shoulders again. They grinded lower together and she laughed at the dirtiness of it all. It was intoxicating. Dancing this way, being held by hands that were so sure, so skilled, listening to this kind of music to spur all of it on in the first place.  

The instructor took her arm suddenly and twirled her around. Gwen didn’t register the lost of contact until the song ended and she stopped dancing. Her partner had moved around the floor, finding other people to bewitch.

Gwen worked to catch her breath, laughing almost manically to herself as cheers erupted around her. She continued to be amazed at the moment she just experience for the first time in her life. Her limbs had moved as if some inexperienced person was controlling them remotely. But she had never allowed herself to be a fool, to be less than perfect, to feel ashen and crazy and  _ soiled _ . It was heady. Not allowed. Forbidden. 

Her smiled dropped a fraction as her thoughts caught up to her. Uncertainty and doubt suddenly took over and she wasn’t sure she could dance them away so easily. Gwen stared at her unfamiliar surroundings, crossing her arms over chest. 

For the second time that day, she stood partnerless on a dance floor.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Drop a note in the comments section. It can be a musical note, angry note, happy note, any note. I'll listen. :)


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